


Do Stop Dragging Your Feet, Jack

by Python07



Series: More Than Meets the Eye [7]
Category: Jack of All Trades (TV)
Genre: Crack, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 20:24:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5062840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Python07/pseuds/Python07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's time to check up on the Governor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do Stop Dragging Your Feet, Jack

“Do stop dragging your feet, Jack,” Emelia said crisply. She gracefully cut through the crowds at the market, her parasol open over her head, ever the imposing, regal lady. 

Jack was only a step behind her. “I’m coming,” he groused. “What’s your hurry?”

“We haven’t been invited back to the Governor’s mansion for almost two weeks now. It’s time to check up on him to see if he or his brother is up to anything.”

“I get that,” Jack said. Part of him wanted to go and part of him didn’t because he could still vividly recall the feel, the thrill of that first kiss and the angry disappointment of the second one. He forced a laugh. “I was just enjoying my Croque-free time and you’re ruining it.”

Emelia didn’t deign to look at him. “Poor baby.” 

“Come on, Em,” Jack whined. “I don’t want to hang out with a bunch of snooty French fries. It’s a beautiful day. Let’s go to the beach. I’ll pack the picnic this time. I’ve got a bottle of hooch that I’ve been saving for a special occasion.”

“What special occasion?”

“Ah…” Jack’s voice trailed off before he offered lamely, “The second Tuesday in Lent.”

Emelia sighed in frustration. “It’s not Tuesday and it’s not Lent.”

Jack hurried a few steps in front of her, turned, and planted himself in her way. “Come on, Em. We can blow this off for twenty year old scotch.”

Emelia’s step didn’t falter as she stepped around him and continued on. “No. Croque may be an odious swine, but this is our job.”

Jack frowned and fell into step with her. “I don’t know if I’d go that far. He’s an annoying pain in the ass, but the guy sorta grows on ya.”

“Perhaps,” Emelia allowed coolly. “Like a fungus.” 

“You’ve gotta admit that he’s pretty bad at being a dictator. I wonder sometimes if he’s trying.”

Emelia snapped her parasol shut. “The point is moot. We’re here.”

“Joy,” Jack replied sourly. He took a deep breath and followed her through the main gate.

The entire garrison was gathered in the main open area in front of the palace. They stood to the side, watching two of their fellows practicing their sword play. The two combatants stood inside of a chalk circle. They were stripped to the waist and fighting with wooden swords. The local chaplain was the referee.

There was open cheering and booing. Money openly exchanged hands. One man maintained a chalk board with the tournament bracket.

Croque sat outside, under an awning, watching the competition. There was a small table next to him. A silver tea service sat on top of it.

Emelia dropped to a curtsey in front of him. Jack was silent behind her. “Governor,” she greeted.

Croque stood. He took her hand and then kissed both of her cheeks. “Emelia, my dear. How are you?”

“Very well. Thank you,” Emelia replied graciously.

Croque pointed to the empty seat next to his. “Please, have a seat.” He sank back down into his chair and turned his attention to the tea, without sparing Jack a glance. “Monsieur Stiles.” 

“Governor,” Jack returned tightly.

Emelia accepted the seat and a cup of tea. She nodded towards the sparring match. “What’s going on?”

Croque added milk and sugar to his own cup. “A fencing tournament. It’s to help the men blow off some steam and sharpen their skills.” 

“How thrilling,” Emelia exclaimed. “How does one win a match?”

Croque smiled at her enthusiasm. “The first man to reach five points wins.”

Jack stood at Emelia’s other side, in the sun. “Is there a prize for the winner?”

“A three day furlough,” Croque told Emelia as if Jack hadn’t spoken.

There was a loud cheer as one contestant landed the winning hit on the other. The two bowed to each other and went to their comrades for some wine and water. The keeper of the board wrote down the name of the winner on the next line of the bracket.

“So, is betting allowed?” Jack asked.

Croque still hadn’t met his gaze. “It is permitted,” he answered neutrally.

Jack opened his mouth but he was at a loss.

Emelia leaned in close to Croque and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “And who is your champion?” 

Etienne and another soldier shed their hats, coats, and shirts and stepped into the circle. They nodded to each other. They held the wooden swords at the ready. At the signal, they moved swiftly and surely.

Etienne scored the first hit and one end of Croque’s mouth quirked up. “I should not say, Emelia.” He gestured to the keeper of the board. “Benoit can give you the odds if you’re interested.”

Jack shifted his weight nervously. He gave himself a mental slap. He rubbed his hands together eagerly. “I think I need to get in on this action.”

Emelia held a hand up. “You have no money, Jack. I told you not to back The Spanish Lady last night at the cock fights.”

Croque arched an eyebrow at her. “You attended a cock fight, Emelia?”

Emelia waved in Jack’s general direction but didn’t look at him. “Only to keep Jack from losing his shirt. I’m afraid I failed in that endeavor.”

Jack leaned on the back of Emelia’s chair. “Come on. Give me an advance.” He rolled his eyes and waved an arm in the general direction of the soldiers. “It won’t be hard to pick the winner out of that lot.”

“No,” Emelia answered as she handed Croque her cup. She rose gracefully to her feet. “I shall place my own bet.”

Jack watched her walk away. She skirted the crowd and made her way to Benoit while he dropped into her seat. “You don’t mind, do ya, Govey?”

Croque’s voice was devoid of emotion. His gaze never wavered from the match. “No, Jack.”

Jack drummed his fingers nervously on his leg. “Look,” he said, just loud enough for Croque to hear. “I want to apologize.” 

“Very well,” Croque replied in that same maddeningly neutral voice.

Jack winced but pressed on. “I mean that I never should have pushed you like that.”

Croque finally looked at Jack, his expression unreadable. “All right, Jack.”

“All right,” Jack echoed at a loss. He sprawled back in the chair and quietly pretended to watch the match.


End file.
